Solution Manual for Corporate Financial Accounting 13th Edition by

Warren ISBN 1285868781 9781285868783

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CHAPTER 2
ANALYZING TRANSACTIONS

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. An account is a form designed to record changes in a particular asset, liability, stockholders’ equity,
revenue, or expense. A ledger is a group of related accounts.
2. The terms debit and credit may signify either an increase or a decrease, depending upon the nature
of the account. For example, debits signify an increase in asset, expense, and dividends accounts but
decrease in liability, common stock, retained earnings, and revenue accounts.
3. a. Assuming no errors have occurred, the credit balance in the cash account resulted from writing
checks for $1,850 in excess of the amount of cash on deposit.
b. The $1,850 credit balance in the cash account as of December 31 is a liability owed to the bank.
It is usually referred to as an “overdraft” and should be classified on the balance sheet as a
liability.
4. a. The revenue was earned in October.
b. (1) Debit Accounts Receivable and credit Fees Earned or another appropriately titledrevenue
account in October.
(2) Debit Cash and credit Accounts Receivable in November.
5. No. Errors may have been made that had the same erroneous effect on both debits and credits, such
as failure to record and/or post a transaction, recording the same transaction more than once, and
posting a transaction correctly but to the wrong account.
6. The listing of $9,800 is a transposition; the listing of $100 is a slide.
7. a. No. Because the same error occurred on both the debit side and the credit side of the trial
balance, the trial balance would not be out of balance.
b. Yes. The trial balance would not balance. The error would cause the debit total of the trial
balance to exceed the credit total by $90.
8. a. The equality of the trial balance would not be affected.
b. On the income statement, total operating expenses (salary expense) would be overstated by
$7,500, and net income would be understated by $7,500. On the retained earnings statement,
the beginning and ending retained earnings would be correct. However, net income and
dividends would be understated by $7,500. These understatements offset one another, and thus,
ending retained earnings is correct. The balance sheet is not affected by the error.

2-1
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 9. a. The equality of the trial balance would not be affected.
b. On the income statement, revenues (fees earned) would be overstated by $300,000, and net
income would be overstated by $300,000. On the retained earnings statement, the beginning
retained earnings would be correct. However, net income and ending retained earnings
would be overstated by $300,000. The balance sheet total assets is correct. However, liabilities
(notes payable) is understated by $300,000, and stockholders’ equity (retained earnings) is
overstated by $300,000. The understatement of liabilities is offset by the overstatement of
stockholders’ equity (retained earnings), and thus, total liabilities and stockholders’ equity is
correct.
10. a. From the viewpoint of Surety Storage, the balance of the checking account represents an asset.
b. From the viewpoint of Ada Savings Bank, the balance of the checking account represents a
liability.

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 CHAPTER 2 Analyzing Transactions

PRACTICE EXERCISES
PE 2–1A

1. Debit and credit entries, normal debit balance

2. Credit entries only, normal credit balance
3. Debit and credit entries, normal credit balance
4. Credit entries only, normal credit balance
5. Credit entries only, normal credit balance
6. Debit entries only, normal debit balance

PE 2–1B
1. Debit and credit entries, normal credit balance
2. Debit and credit entries, normal debit balance
3. Debit entries only, normal debit balance
4. Debit entries only, normal debit balance
5. Debit entries only, normal debit balance
6. Credit entries only, normal credit balance

PE 2–2A
Oct. 27 Office Equipment 32,750
Cash 6,550
Accounts Payable 26,200

PE 2–2B
Sept. 30 Office Supplies 2,500
Cash 800
Accounts Payable 1,700

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 CHAPTER 2 Analyzing Transactions

PE 2–3A
Mar. 16 Accounts Receivable 9,450
Fees Earned 9,450

PE 2–3B
Aug. 13 Cash 9,000
Fees Earned 9,000

PE 2–4A
Dec. 23 Dividends 20,000
Cash 20,000

PE 2–4B
June 30 Dividends 11,500
Cash 11,500

PE 2–5A
Using the following T account, solve for the amount of cash receipts (indicated
by ? below).
Cash
July 1 Bal. 37,450 115,860 Cash payments
Cash receipts
July 31 Bal. 29,600

$29,600 = $37,450 + Cash receipts – $115,860

Cash receipts = $29,600 + $115,860 – $37,450 = $108,010

PE 2–5B
Using the following T account, solve for the amount of supplies expense
(indicated by ? below).
Supplies
Aug. 1 Bal. 1,025 ? Supplies expense
Supplies purchased 3,110
Aug. 31 Bal. 1,324

$1,324 = $1,025 + $3,110 – Supplies expense

Supplies expense = $1,025 + $3,110 – $1,324 = $2,811

2-3
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 The Orion with three humpback whales at Sechart, Vancouver Island.

The modern shore station is usually situated in a bay or cove not

far from the open sea. The flensing slip and carcass platforms are
the most striking portions of the establishment, and these are
surrounded by boiling vats, the machine for drying the flesh, the
engine house, wharf, bunk houses, offices, and the dwelling of the
manager, the whole forming an imposing group of buildings.
Many of the whaling stations have very comfortable quarters
and those on the bleak islands of the South Atlantic are even
luxurious. The manager’s house is often beautifully furnished,
with electric light, bathrooms, and even steam heat, so that when
one becomes accustomed to the all-pervading odor from the
“dryer,” the station is a delightful place at which to work. Although
each one differs in respect to food, nevertheless the meals are for
the most part excellent, for the managers realize that if their men
are to be contented they must be well fed.
The whaling ships usually return to the station each night and, if
one is free from seasickness, furnish a rather inviting home for a
short stay. They are trim, high-bowed vessels of about one
hundred tons burden, ninety to one hundred feet long, and have a
speed of from nine to twelve knots per hour. Round-bottomed to
facilitate speedy manipulation, they ride the water like a cork but
roll and pitch almost beyond belief in the slightest seaway.
Most striking of all the upper works is the harpoon-gun
mounted upon a heavy iron support at the very bow. It is a short
cannon, 51½ inches long, with a 3-inch bore, and turns easily
upon a swivel up and down and from side to side.
 At the butt end, under a short wooden handle, is an iron lever,
the trigger, which when pressed upward explodes the gun. The
charge is 300 to 375 drams of very coarse, black powder which is
sewed up in a cheesecloth sack and rammed home from the
muzzle; then come wads of oakum, hard rubber or cork, and wool,
after which the harpoon, well greased, is pushed in and hammered
solidly into place with a wooden mallet. Some guns require more
powder than others but if too much is used the iron will be bent as
it leaves the muzzle.
The harpoon is 76 inches in length, and has a double shaft, at
the end of which are 4 twelve-inch flukes, or barbs; these are tied
to the shaft but spread widely upon entering the whale’s body and
prevent the iron from drawing out. The harpoon is tipped with a
hollow point, called the “bomb,” which is filled with powder and
ignited by a time fuse set for the desired interval. Three or four
seconds after the gun is fired the bomb bursts, frequently killing
the whale almost instantly.
The harpoon is made of the best Swedish iron and weighs one
hundred and ten pounds. After it has been fired into the body of a
whale it is usually badly bent and twisted, but the tough, elastic
iron can be straightened by the station blacksmith and made as
good as new.

The harpoon-gun on the Rex Maru. The gun is loaded and the harpoon
is shown projecting from the muzzle; coiled on the iron pan below is
the rope which is carried with the iron in its flight. The winch may be
seen in front of the bridge at the left of the picture.

A large ring slides easily along the double shaft of the harpoon,
and to this one end of a five-inch rope is fastened. Forty or fifty
fathoms of a somewhat smaller line, called the “forerunner,” are
coiled on a heavy iron pan just under the gun, giving slack to be
carried with the harpoon as it flies through the air.
From the pan the rope passes backward over a roller in the bow
of the ship to a double winch just in front of the bridge and down
into the hold, where a thousand fathoms (6,000 feet), or more, are
carried. By means of the winch the whale is “played” as one would
use a reel on a fishing rod, and after the animal has been killed it
is hauled to the surface and fastened to the side of the ship.
The harpoon lines are made of the finest Italian hemp and
tested for a breaking point of eighteen tons, but the forerunner is
tested for only fifteen or sixteen tons. Some, made especially for
use in hunting the giant blue whale, will resist a strain of twenty-
eight tons. If a tight line is kept and there are no sudden jerks the
ropes seldom break.
Not far beyond the winch the mast is stepped, bearing near its
peak a small barrel, called the “crow’s nest,” from which the
whales are sighted.
The vessels carry a crew of ten or twelve men beside the captain,
who is usually also the gunner. In Japan vessels are required by
the coasting laws to have a Japanese in command, and
consequently a native captain is employed who takes the ship in
and out of the harbor. He is really the pilot, and the vessel is
turned over to the Norwegian gunner as soon as the open sea is
reached.
The harpoon is tipped with a hollow point called the “bomb,” which is
filled with powder and ignited by a time fuse. The barbs, or flukes, are
tied to the shaft of the iron.

The harpoon after it has been fired into the body of a whale. The bomb
has exploded and the shaft is bent.
 Although in various parts of the world I have met two or three
gunners who were not Norwegians, there are not many such. From
their Viking ancestors the Scandinavians have inherited their love
for the sea and, since Svend Foyn’s time, Tønsberg has sent forth
her sons to the whaleships much as did New Bedford half a
century ago. Thus the present generation has grown up as the
industry developed, and from boys to men they have seen it in all
its phases and learned not only how to shoot a whale but how to
handle it afterward, which is fully as important.

A trial shot with the harpoon-gun. The harpoon line is shown, and
three men may be seen in the barrel at the mast head.

Even as the harpoon-gun brought with it a new era of whaling,

so it gave to the scientist undreamed-of opportunities for the study
of cetaceans. Until shore stations were established, few indeed
were the naturalists who had examined more than five or six
whales during their entire lives. These carcasses were usually of
whales which had met with some accident at sea and had been cast
up on the beach; almost always the animals had been dead for
days before they came under the notice of a competent scientific
observer, and had lost much of their original proportions and
color. A whale’s body begins to generate gases at an astounding
rate as soon as the animal is dead, and within a very few hours
becomes so swelled and distorted that the true proportions are
almost lost. Even trained naturalists did not always take this fact
into consideration, and their descriptions and figures were
consequently notable chiefly for their inaccuracy.
It is only within a very few years that it has been generally
recognized how rapidly cetaceans change color when dead, and
often in scientific papers whales are described as “black” which are
never black in life. By far the greater number of whales and
dolphins have various shades of slate, or gray, on the upper parts,
and if exposed to the sun for a few hours these portions turn jet
black.
Again, there is in all cetaceans great variation among
individuals of the same species, and whales from the same school
or “pod” may differ widely in proportions and general color. Some
may be long and slender, others short and thick; one may have a
light gray back and pure white underparts, while a second, taken
from the same herd, is dark slate above and strongly shaded
below; and, moreover, the skeletons often vary almost as greatly
as the external characters.

A near view as the gun is fired at a target. The harpoon rope is visible
through the smoke.

Quite naturally when these extremes came under the notice of a

scientist who had, perhaps, seen but three or four whales in his
entire life, they were at once judged to be representative of
different species and were given new names. This course cannot
be wholly condemned, for under existing conditions it was almost
the only one to be followed. Although it did put on record many
valuable facts concerning the history of the animals, it also
resulted in multiplying nominal species to such an extent that the
work of later investigators in separating the valid from the invalid
has become a herculean task; quite false conclusions as to the
distribution of the various whales were also drawn, which only a
vast amount of labor and study can rectify.
The number of whales taken during a season varies greatly with
the locality, but at one of the Vancouver Island stations when I
was there in 1908, three hundred and twenty-five were killed in
seven months by one ship. In a single week twenty-six whales were
captured, and on June 10, the S. S. St. Lawrence, Captain Larsen,
brought in four humpbacks, one blue whale, and one finback.
Whales are such enormous creatures that the ordinary methods
used in the study of other animals cannot be applied to them.
Instead of having actual specimens before one for comparison, a
naturalist must depend almost entirely upon photographs, notes,
measurements, and descriptions.
Until shore whaling began such data were rare and most
unsatisfactory. When a whale is cut in as it lies along the side of a
ship, it is never possible to see the entire animal at once; it is
almost impossible to secure photographs of real value for
comparative work, and even measurements can be taken only with
difficulty and not without a large percentage of error. Internal
anatomical investigations are out of the question, because as soon
as the blubber has been stripped off the carcass is turned adrift.
By the establishment of shore stations these difficulties have
been largely eliminated. The whales are usually drawn entirely out
of the water upon the slip where, before the blubber is stripped
off, they can be measured, photographed, and described. As they
are being cut in it is possible to make a fairly detailed study of the
fresh skeleton and other parts of the anatomy—if the investigator
is not afraid of blood and grease. Moreover the great number of
whales of a single species brought to the stations allows a study of
individual variation, which evidently is greater among some of the
large cetaceans than in other groups of mammals.
Since shore stations are located in widely separated parts of the
world, they have facilitated investigations of the distribution, life
history, and relationships of large whales, which otherwise would
have been impossible. Thus it is obvious that a naturalist who is
fortunate enough to stay for some time at a modern factory has
opportunities for original work such as were undreamed of before
the days of steam whaling.
The directors of the companies, and the managers of the
stations, have usually been glad to assist in the study of the
animals which form the basis of their industry, and have
generously extended the courtesies of their ships and stations. In
some instances they have gone to considerable trouble to secure
specimens which could be prepared and presented to museums in
various parts of the world for exhibition and osteological study. It
is deeply to be regretted that the wholesale slaughter of whales will
inevitably result in their early commercial extinction, but
meanwhile science is profiting by the golden opportunities given
for the study of these strange and interesting animals. Thus, the
old saying that “it is an ill wind that blows good to no one” applies
very decidedly to the whaling industry.
 CHAPTER I
MY FIRST WHALE HUNT

Great lumbering swells of gray water rolling out of the fog from
the wide sweep of the open Pacific were the picture I saw through
the round, brass-bound frame of the porthole on the S. S. Tees. It
was the last of May, but the cold of winter still hung in the sea air,
and even when we drew in toward the foot of the mountains which
poked their fir-clad summits far up into the mist clouds, I shivered
in my heavy coat and tramped about on deck to keep warm.
Finally when we were right under the towering mountain’s walls,
we swung abruptly into smooth water, the long roll and pitch of
the ship slackened and died, and we were quietly plowing our way
up river-like Barclay Sound, which, from the west coast, cuts into
the very heart of Vancouver Island.
It was hardly six o’clock in the morning when the wail of the
ship’s siren whistle shot into the deep mountain valley where the
station of the (former) Pacific Whaling Company is located at the
one-time Indian village of Sechart. With a great deal of curiosity I
strained my eyes through the fog to study the group of white frame
buildings which straggled up from the water’s edge back into the
valley.
 Captain Balcom at the gun on the Orion.

I could see only one or two Indians, clad in dirty shirts and
overalls, loafing about placidly staring at the ship, but by the time
she had been warped in and the winch had started to swing aboard
the great oil casks which lined the wharf, two pleasant-faced men
appeared, one of whom I learned was Mr. Quinton, the station
manager; to him my letters were presented. With him was Mr.
Rolls, the secretary of the station, who showed me to a room at the
house. I got out of my “store clothes” and came down to the wharf,
now lined with men of six nationalities—for Norwegians,
Americans, Newfoundlanders, Indians, Chinese, and Japanese are
employed at these west coast stations.
Tied up to the side of the pier was the ship Orion. She was
typical of all steam whalers, had been built in Norway and made,
under her own steam, the long stormy passage across the Atlantic
to Newfoundland. A few years of work there and she started for
the Pacific around the Horn, beating her way northward to the
scene of her present work at Sechart.
The Orion had not gone to sea that morning, for the fog outside
made it useless to hunt; even if the ship could have kept her
bearings in the mist it would have been impossible to see the spout
of a whale, or to follow the animal if one were found.
 The crew were all ashore, and I met Captain Balcom, an alert
young Canadian, and one of the few successful gunners who was
not a Norwegian. He offered at once to take me “outside” with him
when the weather cleared but said we would see only humpbacks,
for the blue whales and finbacks had not yet appeared on these
hunting grounds. At Kyuquot, a station only one hundred miles
farther up the coast, blue whales and finbacks were taken with the
humpbacks in March as soon as the station opened, while at
Sechart they did not come until July.
When the station was first located at Sechart, humpbacks were
frequently taken in Barclay Sound but were soon all killed, and
others did not take their places. At the time I was there, the Orion
seldom found whales less than thirty miles at sea. She usually
arrived about two o’clock in the morning, dropped her catch, and
in half or three-quarters of an hour was again on the way out in
order to reach the feeding grounds shortly after daylight.
I went aboard with Captain Balcom at ten o’clock and turned in
on the Mate’s bunk. The cabin was small, but not uncomfortable,
and it was not long before I was asleep. I did not even hear the
ropes being cast off in the morning and only waked when the boy
came down to call the Captain. We were well down the Sound
when I came on deck, and were steaming swiftly along among
little wooded islets half shrouded in gray fog. Far ahead the ugly,
foam-flecked rocks of Cape Beale stretched out in a dangerous line
guarding the entrance to the Straits of Juan de Fuca; beyond was a
sheer wall of mist shutting us out from the open sea.
The Captain was sure it was only a land fog hanging along the
coastline, and that we would soon run through it into clear air. As
the ship rose to the long swells of gray water and burrowed her
way straight ahead deeper and deeper into the mist, everyone on
deck was drenched and shivering. Fifteen minutes of steaming at
full speed and the gray curtain began to thin; soon we ran out of it
altogether.
There was not a big sea running, but the little Orion was
dancing about like a cork. Balcom said, “It is calm weather so long
as she keeps her decks dry,” and with this rather dubious comfort
I settled down to get used to the tossing as best I could.
Everything was intensely interesting to me, for it was my first
trip on a steam whaler. Already a man had been sent aloft and was
unconcernedly swinging about with glasses at his eyes watching
the water ahead. I learned later, when seasickness was a thing of
the past, what a wonderful view can be had from the crow’s nest.
The whole level sea is laid out below like a relief map and every
floating object, even the smallest birds, shows with startling
distinctness. And if it is comparatively smooth, one can look far
down into the water and see a whale or shark long before it is
visible at the surface or to those on deck.

Loading the harpoon-gun. “The charge is 300 to 375 drams of very

coarse, black powder which is ... rammed home from the muzzle; then
come wads of okum, hard rubber or cork, after which the harpoon ... is
hammered solidly into place.”

Before we left the station, the harpoon-gun had not been loaded.
The muzzle was plugged with a wooden block and the iron rope-
pan drawn upward and tied against the gun’s support. When
coming in from the last trip the vessel had encountered heavy
weather, and the rope was taken off the pan to prevent it from
being carried away by a wave and fouling the propeller. Now as we
were nearing the feeding grounds, the Bo’s’n went forward to load
the gun, re-coil the harpoon line, and see that all was clear and
running smoothly.
The men on board were greatly interested in my camera and
anxious that opportunities might be given for pictures. For two
hours, with the Chief Engineer and the Mate, I sat aft on the great
coil of towing line, used only in very heavy weather, listening to
stories of the idiosyncrasies of whales, especially humpbacks.
Their firm conviction was that one—never could guess what a
“hump” was going to do—except that it would be exactly what was
least expected.
The Engineer had just finished telling about a big fellow that a
few days before had come up in front of the ship and swam
towards it with his enormous mouth wide open, when the man in
the barrel called down, “Whales on the port bow!”
I jumped as though a bomb had been exploded and grabbed my
camera. The other men took things rather quietly, for the whales
were still a long way off. The Captain tried to show me the spouts
but it was several minutes before I could distinguish the white
columns of vapor shooting up every few seconds.

Model of a humpback whale in the American Museum of Natural

History. The model was prepared by Mr. James L. Clark, under the
direction of Dr. F. A. Lucas.

There were three of them—all humpbacks. On the instant, the

dark bodies slowly rounded into view and three huge, propeller-
like tails were smoothly lifted out of the water, elevated vertically
to the surface, and again drawn below. It is impossible to describe
the ease and beauty of the dive. To look at the heavy body and
long, ungainly flippers of a humpback one would hardly suspect
that there could be grace in any movement, and yet the enormous
animals slide under the surface as smoothly as a water bird.
 “The man in the barrel called down, ‘Whales on the port bow!’”

When the flukes came out, the Captain rang for half speed, for
the whales would probably be down several minutes. Turning the
wheel over to the Mate, he went forward to the gun, pushed up the
spring which cocked it, and waited, alert, for the animals to rise.
I had descended with him from the bridge and stood just behind
the gun platform. The ship, her engines stopped, was rolling about
on the mirror-like patches of water left by the whales as they went
down. After ten minutes of waiting three silvery clouds suddenly
shot upward a quarter of a mile away. Instantly the engine signal
rang and the ship swung about, plowing through the water at full
speed until the whales sounded. For two hours this kept on. Each
time when we were almost within range the big fellows would
raise themselves a little higher, arch their backs, and turn
downward in a beautiful dive, waving their huge flukes as though
in derision.
I had my notebook and pencil at work as well as the camera but
it was getting pretty difficult to use either. The wind had risen and
I was deathly seasick; even the best sailors lose their “sea legs”
when aboard one of these little eggshell boats after a long period
ashore, and mine were gone completely. The Orion was twisting
and writhing about as though possessed of a demon, and every
time she climbed a huge wave to rock uncertainly a moment on
the crest and then plunge headlong down its smooth, green slope,
I was certain she would never rise again. Balcom was doggedly
hanging to the gun, but just after we had both been soaked by a
big sea that came over the ship’s nose he shouted, “If we don’t get
a shot soon we’ll have to leave them.”
At that time we were heading for the whales, which were
spouting only a short distance away. One of them had left the
others and seemed to be feeding. He was swimming at the surface,
sometimes under for a second or two, but never far down. The
ship slid nearer and nearer with engines at dead slow until the
huge body disappeared not thirty fathoms away.
“In a minute he’ll come again,” shouted Balcom, feet braced and
bending low over the gun.
I was clinging to a rope just behind him, trying to focus the
camera, but the flying spray made it well-nigh impossible.
Suddenly I saw the Captain’s muscles tighten, the tip of the
harpoon drop an inch or two, and caught a glimpse of a phantom
shape rushing upward.
Almost on the instant a blinding cloud of vapor shot into our
very faces, followed by the deafening roar of the gun. I saw the
black flukes whirl upward and fall in one tremendous, smashing
blow upon the water; then the giant figure quivered an instant,
straightened out, and slowly sank. For a moment not a sound was
heard on the vessel save the steady “flop, flop, flop” of the line on
the deck as the dead weight of forty tons dragged it from the
winch.
Balcom leaned over the side and saw the rope hanging rigidly
from the ship’s bow. “I must have caught him in the heart,” he
said, “and killed him instantly.”
 “Two men with long-handled knives began to cut off the lobes of the
tail.”

As the Captain straightened up he shouted to the Engineer to

check the line. Then began the work of bringing to the surface and
inflating the dead whale. Taking a hitch about a short iron post,
the harpoon rope was slacked and run through a spring pulley-
block on the mast, just below the barrel, to relieve the strain of
raising the great body. As the winch ground in fathom after
fathom of line the vessel heeled far over under the tremendous
weight. I was clinging to the ship’s side looking down into the
water and soon saw the shadowy outline of the whale, fins wide
spread, nearing the surface. As it came alongside a lead-weighted
line was thrown over the tail, a rope pulled after it, then a small
chain, and finally the heavy chain by which the carcass was made
fast to the bow.
The winch had not yet stopped when two men with long-
handled knives began to cut off the lobes of the tail to prevent the
flukes from pounding the rail as the body swung up and down in
the seaway. Already other sailors were working at a long coil of
small rubber hose, one end of which was attached to an air pump
and the other to a hollow, spear-pointed tube of steel, perforated
along its entire length. This was jabbed well down into the whale’s
abdomen, the engines started, and the animal slowly filled with
air. When the body had been inflated sufficiently to keep it afloat,
the tube was withdrawn and the incision plugged with oakum.
The other whales were a long way off when the ship was ready to
start. The man in the “top” reported them as far to the south and
traveling fast. As there was little chance of getting another shot
that day and the wind was blowing half a gale, the Captain decided
to turn about and run for the station.
We reached Sechart at 1:30 A. M. and the whale was left floating
in the water, tied to the end of the wharf near a long inclined
platform called the “slip”; then the Orion put out to sea and I went
to bed at the station. I shall never forget my intense surprise next
morning when I saw the humpback “cut in.” Work began at seven
o’clock, and as the Manager had just awakened me, I ran out and
did not wait for breakfast, thinking there would be ample time to
eat when the operations were under way. It soon became evident,
however, that there were no breathing spells when whales were
being cut in, and every soul was at his work until the last scrap of
flesh was in the boiling vats.

“A hollow, spear-pointed tube of steel ... was jabbed well down into the
whale’s abdomen, the engines started, and the animal slowly filled with
air.”
 After a heavy wire cable had been made fast about the posterior
part of the whale, just in front of the flukes, the winch was started.
The cable straightened out, tightened, and became as rigid as a bar
of steel. Slowly foot after foot of the wire was wound in and the
enormous carcass, weighing at least forty tons, was drawn out of
the water upon the slip.
One of the Japanese scrambled up the whale’s side and,
balancing himself on the smooth surface by the aid of his long
knife, made his way forward to sever at the “elbow” the great side
fin, or flipper, fifteen feet in length.
Before the carcass was half out of the water other cutters were
making longitudinal incisions through the blubber along the
breast, side, and back, from the head the entire length of the body
to the flukes. The cable was made fast to the blubber at the chin,
the winch started, and the thick layer of fat stripped off exactly as
one would peel an orange. When the upper side had been denuded
of its blubber covering, the whale was turned over by means of the
canting winch, and the other surface was flensed in the same
manner.
It was a busy and interesting scene. The strange, unfamiliar
cries of the Orientals mingled with the shouts of the cutters and
the jarring rattle of the winch as the huge strips of fat were torn
from the whale’s body, fed into the slicing machine, carried
upward, and dumped into enormous vats to be boiled or “tried
out” for the oil.
When the blubber was entirely gone, the carcass was split open
by chopping through the ribs of the upper side and cutting into the
abdomen, letting a ton or more of blood pour out and spread in a
crimson flood over the slip. A hook was attached to the tongue
bones (hyoids) and the heart, lungs, liver, and intestines were
drawn out in a single mass.
The body was then hauled to the “carcass platform” at right
angles to, and somewhat above, the “flensing slip,” the flesh was
torn from the bones in two or three great masses by the aid of the
winch, and the skeleton disarticulated.
 Flensing a whale at one of the Vancouver Island stations. A great strip
of blubber is being torn from the animal’s side.

After the bones had been split and the flesh cut into chunks two
or three feet square, they were boiled separately in great open vats
which bordered the carcass platform on both sides. When the oil
had been extracted, the bones were crushed by machinery making
bone meal to be used as fertilizer, and the flesh, artificially dried
and sifted, was converted into a very fine guano. Even the blood,
of which there were several tons, was carefully drained from the
slip into a large tank, and boiled and dried for fertilizer. Finally,
the water in which the blubber had been tried out was converted
into glue.
The baleen, or whalebone, which alone remained to be disposed
of, was thrown aside to be cleaned and dried as opportunity
offered. The baleen of all the fin whales is short, stiff, and coarse
and in Europe and America has but little value. In Japan,
however, it is made into many useful and beautiful things.
I learned that the cutting operations at Sechart and the other
west coast stations were conducted in the Norwegian way which is
followed in almost all parts of the world except Japan. In the
Island Empire a new method has been adopted, which, while it
has the advantage of being very rapid, is correspondingly
dangerous and will not, I think, ever be widely used.
 CHAPTER II
HOW A HUMPBACK DIVES AND SPOUTS

Although it had been possible to secure but few good pictures

during my first trip at sea on the Orion, nevertheless I had learned
much about the ways of humpbacks. One impression, which I
subsequently found to be correct, was that this would prove to be
the most interesting of all large whales to study—at least from the
standpoint of its habits.
There are no dull moments when one is hunting a humpback,
for it is never possible to foretell what the animal’s next move will
be. He may dash along the surface with his enormous mouth wide
open, stand upon his head and “lobtail,” throwing up clouds of
spray with smashing blows of his flukes, or launch his forty-ton
body into the air as though shot from a submarine catapult.
He may do dozens of other highly original things, all of which
show his playful, good-natured disposition and, if he is allowed to
continue his elephantine gambols unmolested, he is as harmless
as a puppy. But once imbed an iron in his sensitive flesh and it is
wise to keep well beyond the range of his long flippers and
powerful flukes which strike the water in every direction with
deadly, crushing blows.
The humpback is the whale which is most usually seen from the
Atlantic passenger vessels, and may easily be recognized because
when “sounding,” or going under for a deep dive, the flukes are
almost invariably drawn out of the water; the finback and blue
whales, the two other common species, seldom show the flukes.
 A humpback whale “sounding.” “The humpback comes up obliquely,
and, as soon as the spout has been delivered, arches the back and
begins to revolve.”

When a humpback dives the easy grace with which the animal
manipulates its huge, ungainly body and great propeller-like tail,
drawing it out of the water smoothly but with irresistible force,
always gives me a thrill of admiration. I remember one day, while
crossing the Atlantic on the Kronprinz Wilhelm, a humpback
came up not far from the ship and swam parallel with her for
several minutes. Each time the big fellow drew himself up, slowly
rolled over, and brought his flukes out, an involuntary cheer went
up from the passengers. But it is only when sounding that the tail
is shown and never when the whale is feeding or swimming near
the surface.
 A humpback whale with a very white breast. The side fins, or flippers,
are almost one-quarter the entire length of the animal, and to them
barnacles attach themselves as well as to the folds of the throat and
breast.

The humpback comes up obliquely and, as soon as the spout has

been delivered, arches the back and begins to revolve, finally
drawing out the flukes and going down vertically. When hunting,
the proper time to shoot is when the dorsal fin begins to show
above the water—depending, of course, upon the distance. The
iron then has a fair chance to reach the lungs or heart and a larger
target is presented.
How far a whale can descend is a matter of conjecture and more
or less dispute among naturalists. One writer argues that whales
cannot go deeper than three hundred feet because of the
tremendous water pressure. But all cetaceans have certain
specializations in body structure which undoubtedly enable them
to withstand high pressure.
I have, as personal evidence upon this subject, the fact that a
blue whale, harpooned between the shoulders and but slightly
injured, dove straight downward and took out over a quarter of a
mile of rope. We were, at the time, almost a hundred miles at sea
and so far as could be determined the animal had gone down to
the full limit of the line which hung from the bows as rigid as a bar
of steel. The whale remained below for thirty-two minutes and
reappeared not more than a hundred yards away and directly in
front of the ship.
It is the opinion of every whaler with whom I have talked that
all the large cetaceans can descend to a considerable depth, and
each man will give numerous instances, similar to the one I have
cited in the case of the blue whale, to prove his point. Until further
information is available this subject must be an open one. A
smooth, circular patch of water is always left at the spot where a
large whale dives. This is undoubtedly produced by suction and
interrupted wave action but has given rise to many ingenious and
absurd theories in explanation.
When studying whales the most important fact to remember is
that they are one-time land mammals which have taken up a life
in the water and that their bodily activities, although somewhat
modified, are nevertheless essentially the same as those of a horse,
cow, or any other land mammal.
Since a whale breathes air, when it is below the surface the
breath must be held, for if water should be taken into the lungs the
animal would drown. Thus, as soon as a cetacean comes to the
surface its breath is expelled and a fresh supply inhaled before it
again goes down, just as in the case of a man when diving.
However a whale is able to hold its breath for a much longer time
than can an ordinary land mammal—even as much as forty-five
minutes or an hour.
When the animal comes to the surface the breath which has
been contained in the lungs under pressure is highly heated, and
as it is forcibly expelled into the colder outer air it condenses,
forming a column of steam or vapor. A similar effect may be
produced by any person if, on a frosty morning, the breath is
suddenly blown out of the mouth. I have often seen a whale blow
when its head was still a short distance under the surface and at
such times a little water will be thrown upward with the spout.
 The tail of the humpback as the animal “sounds” looks like a great
butterfly which has alighted upon the water.

That whales spout out of the blowholes water which has been
taken in through the mouth is probably more widely believed than
any other popular misconception. As a matter of fact such a
performance would be impossible because a whale’s nostrils do
not open into the back of the mouth as do those of a man, and the
animal is not able to breathe through its mouth as do ordinary
land mammals.
Instead, an elongation of the arytenoid cartilages and the
epiglottis fits into the soft palate, thereby forming a continuous
passage between the nostrils and the trachea, or windpipe, and
entirely shutting off the nasal passages from the mouth. In this
way a whale can swim with its mouth open, when feeding, without
danger of being strangled by getting water into the breathing
organs.
The blowholes, or nostrils, have been pushed backward and
upward to open on the top of the head instead of at the end of the
snout. This is an adaptation to aquatic life, which is also seen in
other water mammals, for in this way the nostrils are almost the
first part of the body to appear at the surface and the whale can
begin to breathe immediately upon rising.
 Although all the fin whales have two nostrils, the spout ascends
in a single column, which, in the humpback, is from twelve to
fifteen feet high. The cloud of vapor is narrow at the base but
spreads out at once, forming a low bushy column which rapidly
drifts away.
The height and density of the spout in all whales depends upon
the animal’s size and the length of time it has been below. If the
whale has been submerged but a brief period, as during surface
dives, a comparatively small quantity of air is expelled and the
breath has not had time to become highly heated; consequently
the column will be low and thin.
The first spout after sounding is usually the highest and fullest. I
have seen humpbacks, which had been badly wounded, lying at
the surface close to the ship, blowing every few seconds, and the
spout could hardly be seen although the opening and closing of the
blowholes and the metallic whistling of the escaping breath were
plainly distinguishable.
Immediately after the delivery of the spout the lungs are refilled,
the blowholes being opened widely and protruded upward, and
the breath rapidly drawn in. The elevation of the blowholes is
probably to prevent a wave from slopping over and filling the
nasal passages, but when a whale lies dead upon the slip there is
no indication that the nostrils can be protruded. This was first
learned through a photograph of a spouting blue whale, taken by
Dr. Glover M. Allen in Newfoundland waters, and since then I
have secured two others which show it admirably. At the time my
first picture was taken we had an interesting experience which I
shall never forget.
 CHAPTER III
AN EXCITING EXPERIENCE IN ALASKA

After leaving Vancouver Island I had gone north to Murderer’s

Cove, Tyee, Alaska, and was being most hospitably entertained on
board Captain Charles Grahame’s ship, the Tyee. We were hunting
in the waters of Frederick Sound and had been out two days. A big
finback had given us an exciting time of it in the afternoon and
evening of the second day and I had gone to bed tired out.
Next morning at five o’clock I was awakened by a hand on my
shoulder and the voice of the Mate saying:
“We’re in a bunch of humpbacks, sir. You’d better get up if you
want some pictures.”
As I had only removed my coat and shoes the night before, in
five minutes I was on deck with my camera and plate holders. It
was a gray day, heavy clouds lining the sky and a strong wind
blowing from the westward. Already the little steamer was
pitching and rolling in a way which made me hate even the
thought of breakfast, but catching sight of the flukes of a big
humpback just disappearing below the surface on the starboard
side, I forgot for a moment that there was such a thing as
seasickness. I climbed to the bridge beside the Mate who was at
the wheel and after getting the camera ready for instant use, took
out my notebook and glasses.
The whales were all about us but feed was evidently scarce and
far below the surface, for the animals were swimming long
distances under water, only rising to blow at irregular intervals.
For three hours we kept up a fruitless chase after first one and
then another of the humpbacks, once or twice getting so close that
a shot seemed imminent. At last the Captain, who had come on
deck, said:
 “The flukes of a big humpback just disappearing below the surface on
the starboard side.”

“It’s no use to bother with these fellows; there is no feed and we

may stay here all day without killing; we’ll go over toward
Fanshaw, and see if we can’t find another bunch.”
Two hours of steaming brought us in sight of Storm Island and
far over near the shore we could see several spouts. Now and then
flukes would show as one of the animals went down, indicating to
my satisfaction that some, at least, were humpbacks. When we
neared the whales I left the bridge, making my way forward along
the deck to the harpoon-gun, and with camera ready braced
myself against a rope. The steamer was pitching furiously and it
was all I could do to keep my feet, but clinging to a line with one
hand and shielding the lens of my camera with the other, I awaited
the reappearance of a whale that had gone down on the starboard
side.
Suddenly the gunner shouted, “There he comes!” and pointed
over the bow where the water was beginning to smooth out in a
large, green patch about thirty fathoms away.
Before I could focus my camera, the whale had burst into view,
sending his spout fifteen feet into the air. Evidently he saw us for
he was down again in a second, only to reappear several fathoms
astern. Time after time he showed himself, never near enough for
a shot but keeping me busy exposing plates.
 After about an hour another humpback appeared beside him
and together they seemed to be enjoying to the fullest extent the
game of tag they were playing with us. Once the larger of the two
threw himself clear out of the water, showing even the tips of his
flukes, and fell back with a splash which sounded like the muffled
clap of two great hands. Again he thrust his head into the air and,
whirling about, I caught him with the camera just before he sank
back out of sight.

“The captain swung the vessel’s nose into just the right position and
they appeared close beside the starboard bow.”

For over an hour the game of tag continued, but once, when the
whales had been down an unusually long time, the Captain swung
the vessel’s nose into just the right position and they appeared
close beside the starboard bow. The roar of the gun almost
deafened me and instinctively I pressed the button of the camera,
but a wave had thrown the steamer into the air at just the wrong
time and the harpoon struck the surface several feet below the
whale. Both animals went down churning the water into foam, and
when next we saw them they were close together, far astern.
Although the chase had been an aggravation to the whalers, I
had reaped a harvest of pictures and had exposed every plate in
the holders. While Sorenson, the gunner, was reloading the gun, I
descended into the hold, substituted fresh plates, and packed the
others in the pasteboard boxes. My work was hastened by the
sudden stopping and starting of the engines which proclaimed
that another whale had been sighted and the chase already begun.
Pushing away the hatch which covered the entrance to the hold,
I swung up the steep ladder to the deck above. Sure enough a big
humpback was spouting only a short distance away, now and then
rolling on his side and throwing his great black and white fin in
the air.
“He’s feeding,” said Sorenson, as I stepped up beside him; “but
he’s pretty wild. Perhaps we’ll kill this time.”
Back and forth for two hours we followed the animal, sometimes
getting so close that when I saw him burst to the surface I held my
breath, expecting to hear the roar of the gun beside me; but
Sorenson, somewhat chagrined by his miss at the last whale,
wished to be sure of this shot and would not take a chance. The
Captain swung the boat in a long circle each time the animal
disappeared and it seemed almost certain that we would at last be
near when he came up. And so it happened, for when we had
almost despaired of getting a shot the man in the barrel shouted,
“He’s coming, right below us.”

“Scrambling up, I ... snapped the camera at the huge body partly
hidden by the boat.”

Looking down into the water I could see the ghostly form of the
whale rising to the surface with tremendous force just in front of
the bow. There was no time to stop the ship and the animal burst
from the water half under the vessel’s side. I started back,
shielding my camera from the spout, and, stumbling over a pile of
chains on the deck, slid almost to the forecastle companionway.
Scrambling up, I jumped to the rail and snapped the camera at the
huge body partly hidden by the boat.
The whale seemed dazed by his sudden appearance under the
steamer, and rolling on his side, went down only a few feet,
reappearing ten fathoms away. Sorenson, who had held to the gun,
steadied himself, swung the muzzle about, and taking deliberate
aim, planted the harpoon squarely behind the fin. It was a
beautiful shot, and the whale went down without a struggle. The
quiet which followed the deafening explosion was broken only by
the soft swish of the line running out from the winch and the men
going to their places. I was leaning against the side almost weak
from the excitement of the last few minutes when Sorenson, a
pleased grin on his sunburned face, turned and said, “I didn’t miss
him that time, did I? He never moved after I fired.”
Four hours more of chasing first one and then another brought
the vessel close to a humpback and again Sorenson sent the
harpoon crashing into the lungs, killing at the first shot. As the day
had been a tiring one and it was too dark to take pictures, I picked
up my camera and climbed down the narrow companionway into
the Captain’s cabin. After reloading the plate holders I lay down
on the bunk listening to the rattling of chains and the tramp of feet
on the deck above as the dead whale, with the other which had
been picked up, was made fast to the bow of the vessel.